***
George regretted the words the moment he spoke them. As he stared into Belinda’s wide eyes, now filled with pain, he wished he could withdraw his statement.
On the other hand...
What could have prompted her to say such a thing? Sure, Belinda Bauer was outspoken. Everyone in town knew it. Her temperament matched her strong, solid build. And when those blue eyes got to blazing...watch out! But to spout such ridiculous nonsense? What had he done to deserve such candor? Did he really come across as lonely?
Was he lonely?
These and a thousand other things George contemplated as he made his way back across the busy street. He entered the barber shop, the package of razor straps in hand, and set his mind on one thing—his work.
A wife would just have to wait.
CHAPTER TWO
Belinda stretched out across her bed, skirts all askew, and thumbed through a faded copy of the New York Times. Encouraged by a particular page of advertisements, she paused and then sat straight up.
Fortunately, mail-order brides still appeared to be in fashion these days—women looking for husbands or searching for new lives in new places. And what interesting advertisements they posted. Why, she had any number to choose from. And the women were as varied as the posts themselves.
“Marvelous!” She pressed a loose hair behind her ear, ready to do business.
Now all she had to do was find the perfect match for George, the one girl who would sweep into town and take his breath away. A small retainer fee upon betrothal was all that Belinda would require for her services as the liaison. Surely George would see his way fit to handle that.
Once he met and fell in love with the girl.
Of course, Belinda would handle the bride-to-be’s train fare from New York to Texas, the business being so new and all, but she didn’t mind. In fact, she had been saving up for this very thing.
“It’s just a small investment in a business that will soon be known across the county,” she said to herself. Her heart lit with joy at the prospect.
Likely, as soon as others in town saw the sheer perfection of her work—her keen sense of pairing up the right fella with the right gal—men would stand in line to pay both her retainer fee and the necessary railroad fares for their incoming brides.
Right now she would focus on one thing at a time, whether George knew about it or not. He would come around. Eventually.
She scoured the paper, intent on finding his perfect match. Finally, she paused at one particular advertisement:
Schoolmarm from Upper New York seeks husband and new life in the plains. Of healthy stock, twenty-eight, short and stocky, keen sense of humor. Great with children.
“Hmm.” Belinda thought about that for a moment. George was a tall, stalwart fellow. Would he mind the short and stocky part? Surely not. He didn’t seem to be the type to care about such things.
Then again, George certainly had no children. Yet. And she had to wonder if Poetry’s fields would be considered plains.
Belinda drew in a deep breath, trying to imagine George as a father. With his quirky sense of humor and striking good looks, his offspring were sure to be both handsome and charming.
Not that it mattered—at least not yet.
For whatever reason, Belinda’s mind began to wander. She began to imagine how she might describe herself in an ad such as this.
Texas spinster seeks...
No, spinster wasn’t the right word, regardless of her age. Spinsters were women who couldn’t find a husband. Belinda had chosen not to marry...for the greater good. That was a different thing altogether.
Again her thoughts shifted to the words she would use to describe herself. Blond. That part was easy enough. Strong. Tall. Hardworking. Energetic. Talkative. Can keep up with the men. Best arm wrestler in Kaufman County.
“Hmm.” Might not be the most appealing description. Maybe she should soften her approach. Great cook, known for hearty German fare.
That would get ’em.
If she wanted to get them. Right now, she just wanted to find a wife for George.
Belinda scanned the rest of the page, keeping her formula in mind. The perfect match would, of course, mean that the potential husband and wife would complement in every conceivable way. Similar interests. Similar occupations. Similar points of view. Such a pairing would result in a harmonious life together as a couple. Time would bear this out.
With this in mind, she continued to read, searching for George’s perfect match, his scientific equal. Nothing seemed to fit—until her gaze landed on one advertisement at the bottom.
Corabelle Watkins, twenty-three-year-old native New Yorker, seeks husband in small town. Shopkeeper by trade. Tall, slender, with outgoing disposition, churchgoer. Ready to settle down with adventurous, godly man. No children, please.
“Perfect!” Belinda squealed. “One plus one equals...the two of you!”
She sprang from her bed and rushed to the rolltop desk before locating a piece of her very nicest floral stationary paper. She reached for a pen, carefully thinking through her words before composing the letter. Belinda spoke them aloud in melodic staccato as she ascribed them to the paper.
“Dear Corabelle...” Belinda paused to smile as she placed the pen to paper once again. “My name is Belinda Bauer. I live in the quaint town of Poetry, Texas, known for its cotton gin, nearby railroad depot, mercantile, restaurant—and its conspicuous absence of women. I am currently employed at the mercantile but have established a new business as a paid matchmaker, as well. I believe you would be the perfect match for one of my clients.”
Belinda stumbled a bit over the word clients but remained determined to continue.
“George Kaufman is the town barber and a handsome man in his late twenties in need of a wife.”
She paused as she looked over what she’d just written. George was in need of a wife, whether he knew it or not. Time would convince him of that. Corabelle would convince him of that.
“After reading your advertisement, I believe that you and George are equal in all respects. Indeed, you are his ideal match. If you are interested in coming to Texas on a trial basis, your train fare will be covered.”
Belinda drew in a deep breath at that point, wondering how much a ticket from New York to Poetry would cost. A pretty penny, no doubt. And what if Corabelle decided not to stay? Should Belinda purchase a round-trip ticket, just in case?
Perhaps a bit more persuasion was in order.
“You will love our beautiful town, especially in the springtime. And—speaking as one who has known George for many years—you will love him, as well. He is tall and well-groomed, with dark, wavy hair and a handsomely trimmed mustache. He is a hard worker, has all of his teeth, and has never been married, so there are no children involved in this match whatsoever.” At least not yet.
She forged ahead. “I have always known George to be a God-fearing man; he never misses a Sunday service and is good and kind to all in our little community.”
Belinda smiled as she thought about what she’d just written. How wonderful, that she did not have to exaggerate George’s assets. He was every bit the man she’d made him out to be and then some. And who knew him better than Belinda, anyway? Why, they’d gone to school together. He had rescued her from several girlish mishaps through the years, including the time she’d twisted her ankle when falling down the front steps of the school.
“I look forward to your reply,” she concluded. “Please feel free to write to me in care of Poetic Notions, in Poetry, Texas. Yours most sincerely, Belinda Bauer.”
Lifting the letter, Belinda blew on it to dry the ink. Afterward, she skimmed over the words once more, just to make sure she hadn’t left anything out. Then, just for fun, she penned a quick little poem to add to the letter:
There once was a town with no women
With men they were surely a’swimmin’
But a gal from the east
Came to tame the wild be
ast
And before long, the menfolk were grinnin’.
She grinned as she read over her little limerick. “There you go! Now she will see that we are poetic in all respects.”
Belinda read again the parts of her letter where she described George’s physical attributes. Corabelle would not be disappointed.
Hopefully George wouldn’t be, either.
Content with her work, Belinda folded the stationary page in half. She reached inside the drawer and pulled out a matching envelope, which she quickly addressed, based on the information she found in the newspaper.
If she rushed, she could make it to town before the post office closed. Then the letter would stand a chance of leaving today. She stood and checked her appearance in the mirror above the desk.
“Not much I can do about this mop of hair,” she said. Still, she brushed the blond mess behind her ears, slipped on some shoes, and headed downstairs. She’d almost made it to the front door when her mother met her, head-on.
“Oh, you startled me, Belinda! Where are you headed to in such a hurry?”
“To town, Mother.” She offered up a faint smile, hoping no more questions would come her way.
“I didn’t think you were working with Hilde and Greta today.” Her mother gave her an inquisitive look. “And your hair looks a bit, well...”
“No, I’m not working today,” Belinda interjected. “I, um...” She slipped her hands behind her back, clutching the letter in her fingertips.
“Belinda.”
“I won’t be long, Mother, I promise.” She rushed around her, sprinting down the front steps of the house.
“Walk, Belinda, don’t run. Act like a lady!” Her mother’s words echoed in her ears as she sprinted beyond the flower beds in the front yard and into the lane just beyond.
All the way to town, Belinda thought about the joy this match would bring. George and Corabelle Kaufman. How wonderful that sounded. How completely perfect! And what a lovely couple they would make. She could just imagine the wedding ceremony now—right down to the flowers. Daisies, of course, trimmed out with vetch, the county’s fairest and most abundant wildflower.
Oh, how fun, to plan all of this without George’s knowledge. Surely he would thank her later. But for now, keeping all of this a secret was, by far, the better plan.
With a spring in her step and a poem in her heart, Belinda continued on toward town.
***
George stepped outside the barbershop, rag in hand, to clean the front window. He basked in the glow of the early afternoon sunshine, happy for a break from his customers. Not often did he get a chance to rest from his labors—not during the summertime, anyway. No, his days were most often filled with rough, talkative men, most of them in need of a shave or a haircut.
He went to work, cleaning. It seemed no matter how hard he tried, George couldn’t keep the large plate-glass window free from those pesky bugs. And the never-ending bits of dirt kicked up from passing wagons posed an ongoing problem, as well. He gave the window a final polish then stood back to give it a thorough once-over. Content, he turned back toward the door.
Just then, George felt a rush of air from behind him. The impact—hard and swift—knocked the wind out of him and threw him off-balance. He found himself belly-down on the ground, with his face in the dirt. George let out a groan as pain radiated through his shoulder. He looked up to discover Belinda Bauer, cheeks flushed, leaning over him.
“Oh, George! I’m so sorry!” She extended her hand, but he refused it and managed to get up on his own. He wouldn’t be seen with a woman helping him to his feet—not in this town, anyway.
“Oh, I’ve ruined you!” she said, trying to brush off his shirt. “I am so sorry. Truly.”
“No permanent damage done.” He took over the task of brushing off his shirt. And his pants. And his face. The pain in his right shoulder continued. He did his best to shake it off, like the dirt.
All the while, Belinda stared at him, mouth agape. “My papa is right,” she whispered finally. “I should’ve been born a boy.”
George couldn’t help but laugh at that. Though tall and solid, Belinda Bauer held every girlish charm, especially at moments such as these when tears threatened to cover her lashes. In fact, many a time she’d taken his breath away, though he had never voiced such a thing. No, she was certainly not meant to be a boy.
“Where were you going in such a hurry, anyway?” he asked. “You could’ve killed someone running at that speed.”
“Oh? Was I running?” Again her cheeks flushed, and her blue eyes twinkled mischievously. He knew that look all too well.
“Yes, you were running.” He gave her a pensive stare. “What are you up to, Miss Bauer?”
“Oh, nothing.” She fidgeted with something behind her back...something tucked into her shirtwaist, perhaps? “I’m just headed to the post office before they close up for the day. That’s all.”
“Ah. Well, what could be so important that you’d run me down in the process?” he asked. “Something going on at home?”
“No.”
“The mercantile?”
Belinda brushed the toe of her shoe back and forth in the dirt. “No, nothing happening at Poetic Notions.” She looked up with a playful smile. “Don’t fret, George. All is well. One day you will thank me for running you down in the street, just wait and see.”
The oddest feeling washed over George as he watched Belinda sprint across the street in the direction of the post office. For whatever reason, he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that her visit to town had something to do with him.
CHAPTER THREE
Less than a month after mailing the letter, Belinda steered the family wagon through the center of Poetry, past the mercantile, the barbershop, and the hotel, and then south toward the nearby town of Terrell. She could scarcely keep her jittery nerves in check. A trickle of moisture made its way down her back and she squirmed, wishing the glaring sun overhead would tuck itself behind a cloud. Perhaps then she could stop perspiring.
Turning to Greta on the seat beside her, she garnered the courage to begin a well-rehearsed speech. “I, um...well, thank you for coming with me today.”
Greta fussed with her bonnet and then turned back to her with a perplexed look on her face. “Can you tell me why we’re doing this now?” She tugged at the neckline of her dress. “This is one secret that has gone on too long. What’s so important that we have to leave the store in the middle of the day and go to Terrell? And in this heat no less!”
Drawing in a deep breath, Belinda tried to gain her composure. Her cousin would likely think she’d lost her mind, once she heard the reason. Perhaps she had. These last few weeks, Belinda had begun to wonder about that very thing herself. Many times, in fact. Oh, how she prayed this would all work out, that she hadn’t somehow gotten ahead of the Lord. She cleared her throat. “I, um, I’ve been keeping something from you, Greta.”
“I’ve guessed as much and am glad to finally hear you confess it.” Greta suddenly looked interested. Now beaming with anticipation, she leaned over and whispered, “What is it?”
Belinda carefully plotted out her next words. “Well, you know about my matchmaking services, of course.”
“Who doesn’t?” Greta snorted in an unladylike fashion. “People all over town are talking about you!”
“Very funny.”
“Funny scarcely begins to describe it.” Greta looped her bonnet strings in place and then gave Belinda a pensive look. “But which part of your matchmaking are you referring to? The part where you asked Samuel Bromstead to shave his beard so that he would look more appealing to Old Widow Hanson, or the part where you told Reverend Billingsley to polish up his wedding sermon because we’re about to have an influx of marriages in Poetry?”
Belinda groaned. “This has nothing to do with Samuel Bromstead or Ella Hanson. I’ve been withholding important information because I wasn’t sure how you would respond to my news. We’re headed to
the train station to fetch a potential bride for one of our town’s most eligible bachelors.”
“A b–bride?” Greta grabbed her arm and gestured for her to slow the wagon. “A real, honest-to-goodness bride? For whom?”
Belinda felt her cheeks heat up. Gracious. If Greta reacted this way, what would the others do? Her mother, father...George?
“Belinda?” Greta continued to stare at her as the seconds ticked by. “Who is the bride for?”
She took a deep breath and spit out the name as quickly as she could. “George.”
“G–George? George Kaufman?” Greta clamped a hand over her mouth and then laughed uproariously. “I don’t believe it! He actually went along with you? Oh, this is priceless! He’s more desperate than he appears, to be sure. I would never have guessed this of him.”
“Well, I...”
“I can’t believe he paid you money to do this.” Greta giggled. “Wait till the others hear that he’s gone and fetched himself a bride from out of state! He’ll be the talk of the town. I can only imagine the chatter now.”
“He, um...” Belinda exhaled sharply. “He didn’t exactly fetch a bride for himself, Greta.”
Confusion registered in her cousin’s eyes. “What do you mean?”
“I mean...” Belinda swallowed hard and shifted her gaze. “He doesn’t know I’ve done this. I fetched her. For him.”
At this, Greta’s eyes grew so wide that Belinda feared they might pop out. “Oh, Belinda, what have you done?”
“Do you think I’m awful?”
“Impulsive, to be sure. Awful, no. Your heart is in the right place, but I wonder about your method. Have you given this careful thought?”
Both girls turned their attention back to the road, neither speaking for a moment. The horse’s hooves clopped along, creating a steady rhythm. Unfortunately, Belinda’s heartbeat moved much faster—so fast that she had trouble breathing. Or was it just the heat?
Boxed Set: Deep in the Heart of Texas: Hurricane, Mismatched in Texas, Christmas at the Crossroads Page 26
